


Automated Fantasy

by naturalkillercyborg



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal, Cybersex, Homestuck Kink Meme, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturalkillercyborg/pseuds/naturalkillercyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake decides to have a little "fun" with Bro's auto-responder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Automated Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a fill on the [kinkmeme](http://homesmut.livejournal.com/11895.html?thread=22050679#t22050679) requesting Jake cybering with Bro's auto-responder. There will be a second chapter, so just hold tight for that!

You have found yourself in this predicament before. It’s just the Cairo Overcoat you wear this time, not because you think that there’s such a thing as having too many computers, but because once you figured out that you weren’t talking to Strider himself and instead his blasted auto-responder for the umpteenth time, you couldn’t shake the idea that came to you. It’s dirty--bloody fuck is it dirty, but you don’t care; in fact, you have never given less of a shit. That goddamned Strider had it coming; you can’t count on ten hands how many times he has sounded like he wants in your pants. In fact, every time you speak with him, auto-responder or not, one of you never fails to perpetuate this madness. With you, it’s an accident, always... yes, always. With him it’s almost automated, to the point that you aren’t sure if you’re ever talking to your real life friend or if it’s just his pigfucking disembodied glasses. For all you know they’ve gone and eaten him.

So here you are. The cursor blinks on the chat window you can see in front of you--because that’s how all this awesome shit works, god bless your grandma--, and you stare at the creamsicle orange text as if daring it to keep up with you. You have toyed with it before, but never to the extent that you’ve just had the idea to. Since it’s not _really_ Mr. Strider, you don’t see the harm in it. You wouldn’t want to give that glorious bastard the pleasure of knowing what he does to you. But this... you could act out a friggin’ fantasy with this automated fakebro with little reprecussions. You could, you want to, and you will.

TT: You’ve got my attention, Jake. Now all you need to do is keep it before that hypothetical buzzsaw starts cutting its way into the ill-fated crotch that is my free time.  
GT: Well mr. strider there’s something ive always wanted to try and I think youll be more than just a little interested.  
GT: You see...  
GT: I’m wearing my *utterly* fashionable Cairo Overcoat right now.

You pause in your thought-typing, and the answer you receive already has your heart racing.

TT: And?  
GT: “And” it is all im currently wearing.

This is a bit of a lie, but it’s not going to be one for long, and if this blasted AI is as accurate as it is always claiming to be, and Strider is in fact actually jonesing for your premium behind, then it should respond in the way you expect it to.

TT: Well, fuck.  
TT: Got proof? Because unless you start coming on to me something fierce, I’m not buying it.

Just like you thought. Strider wouldn’t say no to this, so this thing isn’t going to.

TT: Time’s ticking, and that buzzsaw is creeping mighty close to my prized manhood.  
GT: Hold on a moment.

This is it. You don’t think you could turn back after this because you are just so tickled pink. So Strider really does have a thing for you. You might have a thing for him back, even though he’s no-where near cerulean in complexion and is definitely not of the lady persuasion. You decide right then and there that you really don’t give a fuck. There is a margin of a chance that this is your real friend, but you tuck that thought into the very back of your mind. It’s a bit too heavy, or at least not the type of heavy you are in the mood for right now.

Feeling more than a little lewd, you shrug the giant coat off of your shoulders just long enough to remove your shirt. You get the feeling that you’d feel too naked if you stripped completely without putting it back on first, so you do, and you slowly slip your shorts and your underwear down over your knees and lazily kick them to the side. There, proof. Probably not good enough for that automated bastard, but you have an idea what will be.

GT: Ok im back. I admit that i lied to you before but you should find that i am now quite flatteringly on display for you. Can you picture that?  
TT: That’s a dumb question and you know it.  
GT: So you can! Well then... *Slides a hand across his chest, rubbing one of his nipples.*

You do just that as you think the words, feeling an odd sort of electricity pass through your own touch as you watch the green text appear before your eyes. Some part of you can’t help but imagine actually doing this with Strider, and that thought alone sends a little wave of pleasure through you, straight to your already stirring groin. Your other hand joins the first and it feels twice as good; double that when you imagine his gloved hands touching you instead.

TT: Jesus, you aren’t kidding, are you? You are actually touching yourself to the thought of me.  
GT: Yes. Mm it feels good... would you touch me more?  
TT: If it’s more than just one nipple and involves me over there actually touching you, then fuck. Yes.  
TT: I bet you’re getting hard already.

This pries a soft groan from your lips. You have to tell yourself that this is not really him, it’s just his dumb auto-responder, but fuck it who cares; this is why you’re doing this in the first place, right? And he’s right--it’s right. You’re half-hard already and you’ve barely even started. It takes you much longer than this to get going when you’re trying to get off on your own.

TT: Your lack of immediate response tells me that I was one hundred percent correct with that assumption.  
GT: Yes I am hard!! *Glasses fog up and is blushing.*  
TT: You’re cute is what you are. If I wasn’t so fucking far away I’d be there in a heartbeat, and I’d give that smoking hot body of yours some real attention. Nevermind your no doubt perk little nipples, don’t you think there’s more interesting things to be worrying about here?  
GT: Um. Well if you could kindly... tell me what?

You swallow thickly around the lump that forms in your throat. You can’t help but feel that this is a little too human seeming even for the auto-responder, but you assure yourself that that’s probably just because Strider himself would say things quite like this if given the opportunity. Perhaps he specifically programmed this shit into it on the wild chance that you would attempt something like this. If he did, fuck him; he is such an insufferable douchebag.

Your nipples have gone rigid under your touch, and each roll of your fingertips sends warmth across your skin. You open your eyes (you hadn’t noticed them closing, shit) to see if Mr. Strider has responded.

TT: You know how badly I want to touch you? Imagine it’s me as you touch yourself, Jake. The friction from the leather, my breath on your neck.  
TT: You like that, don’t you.  
GT: Oh gods. *Moans, doing just that.*

You do just as he suggests, and it feels so much better than you imagined it would. You practically jump at the feeling of your own hand, because you swear for a moment that you feel the leather of his gloves, the calluses you imagine being on his fingers. Another sound catches in your throat and you wrap your fingers around your arousal properly, because fuck if you can resist how good this feels. You pump yourself slowly as your head rolls back, and the computer screen follows your line of vision seamlessly.

TT: You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? I bet you’re knee-deep in guns and skulls, but I’m what’s really getting you off, aren’t I?

You honestly hadn’t noticed how close you had settled to the pile of guns in the corner of your room. You are also not surprised that there are more than a couple of skulls in viewing distance... It surprises you how little you give a shit about all that. You have more important things to think about right now.

GT: What if you are? Does that turn *you* on??

You flush worse as the words stumble out sluggishly; your brain is a little on the slow side with the typing now, so busy focusing its attention elsewhere. You have pretty much given up pretending that you’re not typing like you would if this was the real Bro Strider.

TT: I thought you were smarter than that, Jake. Yes. It does. I’ve wanted this for so long that this is probably some sort of tease dream I am bound to wake up from right when it gets to the good part, and fuck if that isn’t going to be the biggest let down of the century.

You think to remind him that he is in fact only artificial intelligence posing as one Mr. Strider, but you don’t want to risk losing his cooperation. Unlike what you might have thought in conversations past, at this very moment he may as well be the real thing.

You cling desperately to that thought as you let your strokes grow firmer, needier. Your mind wanders and you let it, and when you check up on Strider you wonder with a soft gasp if he is some sort of mind-reader.

TT: You want me to fuck you, don’t you?

It takes you a considerable while to respond to that, because it has to register in your mind first, that yes: you want Bro Strider to fuck you. If he was here you are certain that you would let him.

GT: Yes... Oh god yes...  
TT: Tell me what you want me to do to you, Jake. No deal otherwise.  
GT: *Groans as his glasses fog up.* You horses ass... i...

They are really fogging up. You can barely see Strider’s god-awful orange text through them, but you wouldn’t be able to see _anything_ if you took them off. What _do_ you want him to do to you? Your mind wanders and you dig half-heartedly through your Sylladex and take out the first thing that resembles lube. You don’t even look at the label as you open it, and you get your fingers slick as it registers just how much of a dirty little slut you are.

TT: I’m waiting.

Your fingers are most definitely not trembling as they brush against your entrance. Damn this shit is cold. This isn’t the first time you’ve touched yourself there, but given the context it’s a completely different feeling. It’s almost like you can feel him watching you... Er... the auto-responder, that is.

GT: I... I want you to tease me.  
GT: And...  
GT: Your gloves. Leave your gloves on.

You whimper as you circle your fingers around the sensitive ring of flesh, denying yourself of what you really want. You don’t want to go any further before he responds; you are _trying_ to live out a fantasy here.

TT: Like I wouldn’t take my time with that scintillating rump of yours.  
TT: I’ll take it slow. Real slow.  
TT: Fucking rub that fine ass until you can’t stand it anymore.  
TT: I’m not going to do all the work here, though. I’m only going to push this finger in so far. If you want it you’re going to have to work for it.

You bite your lip so hard that it nearly splits, because you’re pushing your fucking finger into yourself so suddenly that it almost hurts. Shame and pleasure mix in your stomach and you start to fuck yourself with it, because you really don’t think Strider would mess around; he’d cut right to the chase. It feels nothing short of amazing despite a bit of discomfort, and you add another finger with a soft groan, trying your best to picture what it would feel like to have the leather of his glove grazing your skin with each movement.

GT: Mmm...  
TT: Feels good, doesn’t it.  
GT: Yes...  
TT: It would feel even better if it was actually me.  
TT: God I want you so bad, Jake.  
TT: I want to hear you cry out my name.

And you do, like he could hear it from where-the-fuck Texas. Like this is actually Bro and you’re enjoying the thought of getting him off too; that it’s you that gets him off, only this isn’t Bro so you can’t really enjoy it that much. There’s a little bit to be missed when you’re cybering with a bot, but damn if he isn’t just convincing enough to make it work.

GT: Strider...  
TT: Yes?  
GT: Frig... ngh...  
TT: God I want to blow you so hard right now.

That statement is so human--not to mention so absurdly arousing--that it nearly drives you over the edge by itself. You picture him doing just that as you start to stroke yourself again, and you’re not paying attention to the chat window anymore because suddenly it feels _insanely_ good and you don’t give a single fuck about the mess you’re making as your red hot pistol shoots off all over your hand and the carpet. You cry out, loud, because living alone affords you that luxury, and you only stop when it starts to hurt more than it pleases.

You collapse in a sticky mess and forget all about Strider for a moment--or his auto-response bot, you remind yourself--because _you just had the best goddamn orgasm of your life_. And, however indirectly, it was all thanks to Bro Strider. The same Bro Strider who has never passed up an opportunity to act like he’d jump on your dick if it was presented to him. You now have irrefutable proof that he would, and apparently, that you would be completely okay with that.

You’re not quite sure what that means in the big scheme of things. But it doesn’t have to be that complicated, right? Strider won’t find out about this. It was just a little experiment--one that you may dapple in again if opportunity strikes. You validated Strider’s persistent homolust for you. Congratulations! And you enjoyed it, so that possibly makes you--

No; you’re not going to even humour thinking about that. What you’re going to do is clean yourself up and drag yourself into bed. At least, once you have a seemingly normal conversation with this bot that will push any lingering remnants of this TOP SECRET CORRESPONDANCE from the IM window that Bro is going to inevitably see once he gets back from wherever he is and puts on his glasses. You make sure that it is very lengthy, just in case.


End file.
